The Blood of the Conquerors

by Harvey Fergusson

  CHAPTER V

  His mother and sister had left early, for which fact he was thankful. Hewalked home alone with his hat in his hand, letting the cold wind of earlymorning blow on his hot brow. Punch and music and dancing had filled himwith a delightful excitement. He felt glad of life and full of power. Hecould have gone on walking for hours, enjoying the rhythm of his strideand the gorgeous confusion of his thoughts, but in a remarkably short timehe had covered the mile to his house in Old Town.

  It was a long, low _adobe_ with a paintless and rickety wooden verandahalong its front, and with deep-set, iron-barred windows looking upon thesquare about which Old Town was built. Delcasars had lived in this housefor over a century. Once it had been the best in town. Now it was anantiquity pointed out to tourists. Most of the Mexicans who had money hadmoved away from Old Town and built modern brick houses in New Town. Butthis was an expensive proceeding. The old _adobe_ houses which they leftbrought them little. The Delcasars had never been able to afford thisremoval. They were deeply attached to the old house and also deeplyashamed of it.

  Ramon passed through a narrow hallway into a courtyard and across it tohis room. The light of the oil lamp which he lit showed a large oblongchamber with a low ceiling supported by heavy timbers, whitewashed wallsand heavy old-fashioned walnut furniture. A large coloured print of Maryand the Babe in a gilt frame hung over the wash-stand, and next to it acollege pennant was tacked over a photograph of his graduating class.Several Navajo blankets covered most of the floor and a couple of gunsstood in a corner.

  When he was in bed his overstimulated state of mind became a torment. Herolled and tossed, beset by exciting images and ideas. Every time that agrowing confusion of these indicated the approach of sleep, he was broughtsharply back to full consciousness by the crowing of a rooster in thebackyard. Finally he threw off the covers and sat up, cursing the roosterin two languages and resolving to eat him.

  Sleep was out of the question now. Suddenly he remembered that this wasSunday morning, and that he had intended going to the mountains. To startat once would enable him to avoid an argument with his mother concerningthe inevitability of damnation for those who miss early Mass. He rose anddressed himself, putting on a cotton shirt, a faded and dirty pair ofoveralls and coarse leather riding boots; tied a red and white bandanaabout his neck and stuck on his head an old felt hat minus a band and witha drooping brim. So attired he looked exactly like a Mexican countryman--apoor _ranchero_ or a woodcutter. This masquerade was not intentional norwas he conscious of it. He simply wore for his holiday the kind of clotheshe had always worn about the sheep ranches.

  Nevertheless he felt almost as different from his usual self as he looked.A good part of his identity as a poor, discontented and somewhat lazyyoung lawyer was hanging in the closet with his ready-made business suit.He took a long and noisy drink from the pitcher on the wash-stand, pickedup his shot-gun and slipped cautiously out of the house, feeling care-freeand happy.

  Behind the house was a corral with an _adobe_ wall that was ten feet highexcept where it had fallen down and been patched with boards. A scrub cowand three native horses were kept there. Two of the horses made theill-matched team that hauled his mother and sister to church and town. Theother was a fiery ragged little roan mare which he kept for his own use.None of these horses was worth more than thirty dollars, and they wereeasily kept on a few tons of alfalfa a year.

  The little mare laid back her ears and turned as though to annihilate himwith a kick. He quickly stepped right up against the threatening hindlegs, after the fashion of experienced horsemen who know that a kick isharmless at short range, and laid his hand on her side. She trembled butdared not move. He walked to her head, sliding his hand along the rough,uncurried belly and talking to her in Spanish. In a moment he had thebridle on her.

  The town was impressively empty and still as he galloped through it. Hoofbeats rang out like shots, scaring a late-roaming cat, which darted acrossthe street like a runaway shadow.

  Near the railroad station he came to a large white van, with a beam oflight emerging from its door. This was a local institution oflongstanding, known as the chile-wagon, and was the town's only all-nightrestaurant. Here he aroused a fat, sleepy old Mexican.

  "_Un tamale y cafe_," he ordered, and then had the proprietor make him acouple of sandwiches to put in his pocket. He consumed his breakfasthurriedly, rolled and lit a little brown cigarette, and was off again.

  His way led up a long steep street lined with new houses and vacant lots;then out upon the high empty level of the _mesa_. It was daylight now, ofa clear, brilliant morning. He was riding across a level prairie, whichwas a grey desert most of the year, but which the rainy season of latesummer had now touched with rich colours. The grass in many of the hollowswas almost high enough to cut with a scythe, and its green expanse waspatched with purple-flowered weeds. Meadow larks bugled from the grass;flocks of wild doves rose on whistling wings from the weed patches; agreat grey jack-rabbit with jet-tipped ears sprang from his form besidethe road and went sailing away in long effortless bounds, like awind-blown thing. Miles ahead were the mountains--an angular mass of bluedistance and purple shadow, rising steep five thousand feet above the_mesa_, with little round foothills clustering at their feet. A brisk coolwind fanned his face and fluttered the brim of his hat.

  But with the rising of the sun the wind dropped, it became warm and hefelt dull and sleepy. When he came to a little juniper bush which spreadits bit of shadow beside the road, he dismounted, pulled the saddle offhis sweating mare, and sat down in the shade to eat his lunch. When he hadfinished he wished for a drink of water and philosophically took a smokeinstead. Then he lay down, using his saddle for a pillow, puffingluxuriously at his cigarette. It was cool in his bit of shadow, though allthe world about him swam in waves of heat.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} Cool and very quiet. He feltdrowsily content. This sunny desolation was to him neither lonely norbeautiful; it was just his own country, the soil from which he hadsprung.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} Colours and outlines blurred as his eyelids grew heavy. Sleepconquered him in a sudden black rush.

  It was late afternoon when he awakened. He had meant to shoot doves, butit was too late now to do any hunting if he was to reach Archulera's placebefore dark. He saddled his mare hurriedly and went forward at a hardgallop.

  Archulera's place was typical of the little Mexican ranches that dot theSouthwest wherever there is water enough to irrigate a few acres. Thebrown block of _adobe_ house stood on an arid, rocky hillside, and lookedlike a part of it, save for the white door, and a few bright scarletstrings of _chile_ hung over the rafter ends to dry. Down in the _arroyo_was the little fenced patch where corn and _chile_ and beans were raised,and behind the house was a round goat corral of wattled brush. The skywardrocky waste of the mountain lifted behind the house, and the empty reachof the _mesa_ lay before--an immense and arid loneliness, now softened andbeautified by many shadows.

  Ramon could see old man Archulera far up the mountainside, rounding up hisgoats for evening milking, and he could faintly hear the bleating of theanimals and the old man's shouts and imprecations. He whistled loudlythrough his fingers and waved his hat.

  _"__Como lo va primo!__"_ he shouted, and he saw Archulera stop and look,and heard faintly his answering, _"__Como la va!__"_

  Soon Archulera had his goats penned, and Ramon joined him while he milkedhalf a dozen ewes.

  "I'm glad you came," Archulera told him, "I haven't seen a man in a monthexcept one gringo that said he was a prospector and stole a kid from me.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}How was the fair?"

  When the milking was over, the old man selected a fat kid, caught it bythe hind leg and dragged it, bleating in wild terror, to a gallows behindthe house, where he hung it up and skilfully cut its throat, leaving it tobleat and bleed to death while he wiped his knife and went on talkingvolubly with his guest. The occasional visits of Ramon were the mostinteresting events in his life, and he always killed
a kid to express hisappreciation. Ramon reciprocated with gifts of tobacco and whisky. Theywere great friends.

  Archulera was a short, muscular Mexican with a swarthy, wrinkled face,broad but well-cut. His big, thin-lipped mouth showed an amazing disarrayof strong yellow teeth when he smiled. His little black eyes were shrewdand full of fire. Although he was sixty years old, there was little greyin the thick black hair that hung almost to his shoulders. He wore a cheapprint shirt and a faded pair of overalls, belted at the waist with a stripof red wool. His foot-gear consisted of the uppers of a pair of old shoeswith soles of rawhide sewed on moccasin-fashion.

  With no more disguise than a red blanket and a grunt Archulera could havepassed for an Indian anywhere, but he made it clear to all that heregarded himself as a Spanish gentleman. He was descended, like Ramon,from one of the old families, which had received occasional infusions ofnative blood. There was probably more Indian in him than in the young man,but the chief difference between the two was due to the fact that theArchuleras had lost most of their wealth a couple of generations before,so that the old man had come down in the social scale to the condition ofan ordinary goat-herding _pelado_. There are many such fallen aristocratsamong the New Mexican peasantry. Most of them, like Archulera, aredistinguished by their remarkably choice and fluent use of the Spanishlanguage, and by the formal, eighteenth-century perfection of theirmanners, which contrast strangely with the barbaric way of their lives.

  The old man was now skinning and butchering the goat with speed and skill.Nothing was wasted. The hide was flung over a rafter end to dry. The headwas washed and put in a pan, as were the smaller entrails with bits of fatclinging to them, and the liver and heart. The meat was too fresh to beeaten tonight, but these things would serve well enough for supper, and hecalled to his daughter, Catalina, to come and get them.

  The two men soon joined her in the low, whitewashed room, which had hardmud for a floor, and was furnished with a bare table and a few chairs. Itwas clean, but having only one window and that always closed, it had apronounced and individual odour. In one corner was a little fireplace,which had long served both for cooking and to furnish heat, but as aconcession to modern ideas Archulera had lately supplemented it with acheap range in the opposite corner. There Catalina was noisily distillingan aroma from goat liver and onions. The entrails she threaded on littlesticks and broiled them to a delicate brown over the coals, while the headshe placed whole in the oven. Later this was cracked open and the brainstaken out with a spoon, piping hot and very savoury. These viands weresupplemented by a pan of large pale biscuits, and a big tin pot of coffee.Catalina served the two men, saying nothing, not even raising her eyes,while they talked and paid no attention to her. After eating her ownsupper and washing the dishes she disappeared into the next room.

  This self-effacing behaviour on the part of the girl accorded with thehighest standards of Mexican etiquette, and showed her good breeding. Thefact that old Archulera paid no more attention to her than to a chair didnot indicate that he was indifferent to her. On the contrary, as Ramon hadlong ago discovered, she was one of the chief concerns of his life. Hecould not forget that in her veins flowed some of the very best of Spanishblood, and he considered her altogether too good for the commonsheep-herders and wood-cutters who aspired to woo her. These he summarilywarned away, and brought his big Winchester rifle into the argumentwhenever it became warm. When he left the girl alone, in order to guardher from temptation he locked her into the house together with his dog.Catalina had led a starved and isolated existence.

  After the meal, Archulera became reminiscent of his youth. Somethirty-five years before he had been one of the young bloods of thecountry, having fought against the Navajos and Apaches. He had made areputation, long since forgotten by every one but himself, for ruthlesscourage and straight shooting, and many a man had he killed. In his earlylife, as he had often told Ramon, he had been a boon companion of oldDiego Delcasar. The two had been associated in some mining venture, andArchulera claimed that Delcasar had cheated him out of his share of theproceeds, and so doomed him to his present life of poverty. When properlystimulated by food and drink Archulera never failed to tell this story,and to express his hatred for the man who had deprived him of wealth andsocial position. He had at first approached the subject diffidently, notknowing how Ramon would regard an attack on the good name of his uncle,and being anxious not to offend the young man. But finding that Ramonlistened tolerantly, if not sympathetically, he had told the story overand over, each time with more detail and more abundant and picturesquedenunciation of Diego Delcasar, but with substantial uniformity as to thefacts. As he spoke he watched the face of Ramon narrowly. Always therecital ended about the same way.

  "You are not like your uncle," he assured the young man earnestly, in hisformal Spanish. "You are generous, honourable. When your uncle is dead,you will repay me for the wrongs that I have suffered--no?"

  Ramon would always laugh at this. This night, in order to humour the oldman, he asked him how much he thought the Delcasar estate owed him for hisancient wrong.

  "Five thousand dollars!" Archulera replied with slow emphasis. He probablyhad no idea how much he had lost, but five thousand dollars was hisconception of a great deal of money.

  Ramon again laughed and refused to commit himself. He certainly had noidea of giving Archulera five thousand dollars, but he thought that if heever did come into his own he would certainly take care of the old man--andof Catalina.

  Soon after this Archulera went off to sleep in the other end of the house,after trying in vain to persuade Ramon to occupy his bed. Ramon, asalways, refused. He would sleep on a pile of sheep skins in the corner. Hereally preferred this, because the sheep skins were both cleaner andsofter than Archulera's bed, and also for another reason.

  After the old man had gone, he stretched out on his pallet, and litanother cigarette. He could hear his host thumping around for a fewminutes; then it was very still, save for a faint moan of wind and theticking of a cheap clock. This late still hour had always been to him oneof the most delightful parts of his visits to Archulera's house. For somereason he got a sense of peace and freedom out of this far-away quietplace. And he knew that in the next room Catalina was waiting forhim--Catalina with the strong, shapely brown body which her formless calicosmock concealed by day, with the eager, blind desire bred of her longloneliness.

  During his first few visits to Archulera, he had scarcely noticed thegirl. That was doubtless one reason why the old man had welcomed him. Hehad come here simply to go deer-hunting with Archulera, to eat his goatmeat and chile, to get away from the annoyance and boredom of his life intown, and into the crude, primitive atmosphere which he had loved as aboy. Catalina had been to him just the usual slovenly figure of a Mexicanwoman, a self-effacing drudge.

  He had felt her eyes upon him several times, had not looked up quicklyenough to meet them, but had noticed the pretty soft curve of her cheek.Then one night when he was stretched out on his sheep skins afterArchulera had gone to bed, the girl came into the room and began potteringabout the stove. He had watched her, wondering what she was doing. As sheknelt on the floor he noticed the curve of her hip, the droop of herbreast against her frock, the surprising round perfection of heroutstretched arm. It struck him suddenly that she was a woman to bedesired, and one who might be taken with ease. At the same time, with aquickening of the blood, he realized that she was doing nothing, and hadmerely come into the room to attract his attention. Then she glanced athim, daring but shy, with great brown eyes, like the eyes of a gentleanimal. When she went back to her own room a moment later, he confidentlyfollowed.

  Ever since then Catalina had been the chief object of his week-endjourneys, and his hunting largely an excuse. She had completed this lifewhich he led in the mountains, and which was so pleasantly different fromhis life in town. For a part of the week he was a poor, young lawyer,watchful, worried, careful; then for a couple of days he was a raggedyoung Mexican and the lover of Cat
alina--a different man. He was theproduct of a transition, and two beings warred in him. In town he wasdominated by the desire to be like the Americans, and to gain a footholdin their life of law, greed and respectability; in the mountains herelapsed unconsciously into the easy barbarous ways of his fathers.Incidentally, this periodical change of personality was refreshing and asource of strength. Catalina had been an important part of it.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} As he laynow sleepily puffing a last cigarette, he wondered why it was that he hadsuddenly lost interest in the girl.